


Triptych: Caught Breaths

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:30:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tickles, missing hats, and tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triptych: Caught Breaths

It's ridiculous. 

Coward's curled up beside him, sated and drowsy and just begging to be touched, like he always is, by simply existing. So he gives in, how could he not, and trails his hand up the smooth skin of Coward's flank. 

Coward lets out a breathy, startled laugh, skin twitching under his hand, and it's surprisingly intoxicating. He smiles, and does it again, lighter. Coward laughs again, turns his head from where it's buried in the pillows and smirks at Blackwood. It's a good look on him. 

He does it again, and this time Coward twitches away, still laughing, shivering at his touch. "What is this?" he asks, amused. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Blackwood tells him, and attacks, both hands scratching lightly at those sensitive, ticklish places that Coward has so many of. Coward makes a most undignified shriek and flails at him. It's ridiculous, childish, but then he feels a child, with the world spread out before him, ready for his taking. 

"Mercy!" Coward gasps out, grinning and breathless, eyes watering. Blackwood stills against him, hands tucked against Coward's stomach.

"You know I have no mercy," he says, and it comes out far hungrier than he intended. 

Coward's smile goes feral in an instant. "Then show me no mercy," he suggests, lascivious, and Blackwood complies. 

 

*

 

He can't quite contain the smile that lurks around the edges of his mouth as he watches Coward dash about, struggling into the clothes they tossed about carelessly last night. He can't contain it at all as Coward half crawls under a table, and returns victorious with a sock. 

Coward glares in his direction at that. "How did this even get there?" he asks, rather petulantly. 

"I’m not the one who undressed that part of you," Blackwood says, and stretches in the bed, still wearing nothing more than the rumples bedsheets. And if Coward stops for a moment to watch, well. He won't say anything. 

"Hat," Coward mutters, "hat hat hat where is my hat?" 

"Are you sure it's not under the table as well?"

Coward makes the most amusing exasperated sound. "Not helpful, Henry."

"And why," Blackwood replies, sitting up, "would I be interested in helping you become less naked and less in my bed?" 

"I can't leave without my hat!" 

_That's the plan,_ Blackwood thinks, but Coward is beginning to look a bit wild eyed. He leans over the edge of the bed, and lo, there it is. He beckons Coward closer and places it on his head, only … 

"This is not my hat, Henry."

That may have been an eye roll, Blackwood thinks. "It is not," he agrees, and curls his fingers around the nape of Coward's neck, pulls him down and kisses hm. Coward sways into him, pliant and willing, giving a content hum as he kisses back. When Blackwood pulls away, Coward looks ever so slightly dazed, and completely prepared to stay in bed with him.

Coward blinks and sighs against his lips. "I am going to be so late," he murmurs. 

He wants to tell him to stay, just stay, but these things are important. He pushes Coward away, gently. "Go," he says. "If you're lucky I'll still be here when you are back."

Coward smiles as he pulls back. "I’m always lucky," he says. 

There's a hat on the stand by the door; while Blackwood can't imagine why Coward didn't check there first, he's sure it's Coward. Coward stops in the doorway for a moment, his fingers brushing over the rim of the hanging hat. 

He settles Blackwood's slightly too large hat a little more firmly on his head as he leaves. 

 

*

 

This is how quiet mornings go: 

They sit, at the small round table that Blackwood seldom used before Coward. There's tea, and if it's the slightly smokier blend that Coward favors, well; Blackwood has come to enjoy it almost as much. There's something sweet, rather than a more hearty breakfast; if they want that, they'll go out. These moments are for the two of them alone. 

Blackwood has his newspaper, and Coward his. Sometimes they trade, or read aloud a short article of interest to each other. Coward always finds amusement in the differing takes on the same event, considers it with some faint scorn to be one of the failings of the common class. Blackwood has yet to make the front page, but that day is not far off, he's sure. 

Coward's foot settles on his, subtle, light, a slight nudge. Blackwood turns his head, but Coward is playing the innocent, deeply engrossed in his article. It's a game, always a game, and sometimes Blackwood will play along and pay no outward mind to Coward's teasing. 

But not today. Today, he sets his paper down, and Coward's lowers as well, curious eyes peeking around a corner at him. He reaches out, batting the paper aside, and lays his hand alongside Coward's cheek, who smiles and curves towards him, lips parting slightly, already willing and eager for the kiss sure to follow. 

Blackwood brushes his thumb across Coward's bottom lip, and steals the final crumpet from Coward's plate. The currant ones are always his favorite.


End file.
